


Stuck

by dorwinionwhining



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Crying, Gen, Post-Sirion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 06:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorwinionwhining/pseuds/dorwinionwhining
Summary: Being kidnapped is confusing and frightening and isolating. In the beginning, at least. It takes time for love to grow, and Elrond hasn't had hardly any time at all.





	Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance if this feels a bit thrown together. I didn't fine comb it, I just wrote it. I go back and forth a lot on how I think the whole situation between the Fëanorians and the twins went down. This particular snippets leans towards everyone being a disaster, and no one knowing how to explain what happened to either of them. I do like writing Elrond as the angrier one at this age, though. I think both twins are highly empathic and trying to protect themselves in different ways, neither of which works completely. And as always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

It was their fifth morning inside the fortress wall. Elrond had been keeping track, though he fretted that if it continued on for too much longer he would run out of numbers to count with.

He wanted his mother.

But he couldn’t have her. The red haired man had told him and Elros that she was gone in such a cold, emphatic tone that Elrond didn’t dare disbelieve him even though he hated him. He didn’t understand, but his mother was gone.

Elros was making little towers of pebbles on the hard packed dirt of their alcove, but Elrond, despondent, refused to join him, curling up in a squat with his chin between his knees to watch the desolate path around the corner.

“Being sad’s not going to change what’s happening,” Elros said after a while. He was stacking one tower higher than the rest, using the flattest pebbles.

Elrond scowled. “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh.” Elros placed another pebble.

“I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” Elrond’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to jump up and push Elros over into the dirt, but he held himself back.

This wasn’t like fighting at home, where a scuffle might be broken up by the potter or by the baker’s husband or by the oldest daughter of some cousin they were too young to really know, and after apologizing to each other and having their hands and faces washed they might be treated to cups of milk and kind lectures. Everyone knew them at home. Here almost no one did.

He still wanted to fight. He could feel anger bubbling up from his chest to his throat to his tongue, but he was afraid. He had no idea what would happen to them here.

He squeezed his fists tighter, his ragged little nails scratching the palms of his hands as he did so.

Elros was glaring at him, a perfect mirror of Elrond’s anger.

Seeing that almost made him feel better.

Elros had worn the same mild frown since their arrival, as if their whole lives being ruined was an inconvenience rather than a waking nightmare, and while Elrond had cried and screamed and fought their captors, Elros had followed their orders without complaint. 

It was confusing and somehow heartbreaking. Elrond had thought the two of them would be united over this, that Elros’s feelings would be the same as his. But instead he’d been left alone with his anger, and for days he’d wanted nothing more than to see his brother as upset as he was.

But now Elros snapped, “Just get over it,” at him, and Elrond flinched before he could stop himself, scrambling to his feet.

“Shut up!” he yelled.

“No, you shut up!” Elros yelled back. “This is just like when dad left! It doesn’t matter what we do or how we feel, no one is going to listen to us!”

He turned, and for a second Elrond thought he would hit him, and he anticipated it, wanted it, but instead Elros kicked the tower over, sending the pebbles scattering over the dirt. There were tears welling up in his eyes, Elrond realized.

The urge to fight left him in a sudden rush, and his chest ached.

He watched, and the tears welled up more and more, spilling down Elros’s cheeks and puddling under his chin, dripping onto his chest and staining the wool of his tunic. He didn’t wipe them off.

He just stood there, crying and crying.

Elrond didn’t know what to do.

“We’re stuck here,” Elros said, and his voice was thick and choked. “Just get over it.”

Elrond’s lip began to tremble, and he bit down on it to make it stop. He’d changed his mind. He didn’t want Elros to be as upset as he was. It was awful.

He reached out and clumsily tried to dry the tears still falling from Elros’s eyes. Elros pushed him away and did it himself, sniffling into his sleeves. “I’m sorry,” Elrond said.

Elros shuddered once, all over. “Me too.”

The shared words did nothing to make Elrond feel better.

Hugging Elros didn’t either, because what he really wanted was for his mother to sweep both of them into her arms the way she would after all of their worst fights, using one hand each to smooth their wild hair and somehow managing to speak to both of them at the same time, saying exactly what they needed to here.

He tried to imagine never hugging her again, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He shut his eyes instead and squeezed Elros tighter.

Elros squeezed him back.

“I’m sorry,” Elrond said again.

“Me too,” Elros echoed.

Long, awkward minutes passed, and then Elros purposefully detangled their arms and stepped back. His face was stained and blotchy and his mild frown was back in place, but now Elrond knew what was underneath it, and he couldn’t begrudge him wearing it. In fact he soon felt his own face settling into a similar expression.

Elros twitched and looked away.

Elrond watched as he began to gather up the pebbles he’d scattered. Both of them sunk down into squats, and Elros started to stack them again.

It was like nothing had changed, like their fight wasn’t real.

It was eerie.

He swallowed and felt his ears ring with the silence around them.

“Why’s it always so quiet here?” he asked.

Elros’s ears twitched. He was carefully placing two lopsided pebbles so that they balanced each other and didn’t look up until he was sure they would stay in place. Elrond waited.

There were some sounds, like firewood being chopped on the other side of the courtyard, or the clattering of stairs being climbed and doors being opened, water sloshing out of buckets and rugs getting beaten by brooms. But all of the cheerful sounds were missing, all the boisterous people sounds.

There was no laughter, no gossiping.

No singing.

Elros let out a shuddering breath and whispered, “Maybe they really are cursed, like cook told us.”

Elrond could believe it, but he didn’t want to. He felt helpless enough against their captors without giving them special powers. He stared up at the tower looming over them, searching for a counterargument and settling on saying, “The walls here are thicker, and there aren’t any big windows. Maybe we just can’t hear as well as we could at home.”

“Maybe,” Elros said doubtfully.

The eerie silence stretched out again.

“I really hate it here,” Elrond confessed, finding himself still unable to hold back his feelings the way Elros could. His frown slipped into a scowl and his hands curled back into fists.

Elros stared at him, but instead of rebuking him, like he would have just this morning, he said, “So do I.”

Elrond’s scowl relaxed.

Elros held out a perfectly flat pebble. “Will you help me build?”

“Okay,” Elrond said, taking it.


End file.
